Rock Candy
by spazmoid
Summary: Life is like that box of rock candy. There are bits of sour and sweet in it. ... A collection of short drabbles unworthy of being on their own. eue
1. crystal caverns hide cheating hearts

Craig licked the frozen treat apathetically. It was tasteless, more ice than sugar due to his lack of enjoyment of sugary things. It was the only thing he had been willing to get on this field trip that was "the best thing ever" according to Stan and all the other middle school students who had wanted to come. Craig wished the contrary. He really did not enjoy school trips that involved beaches. In fact, he did not even enjoy beaches. He always got sand in crevices he never wanted, and everything he ate got warm too quickly. This included the popsicle in his hand right then. Craig licked the juice sliding down his fingers before it could run on his shirt. His new white jacket was of his favourite television show, and he cherished it. His grandmother had bought it for him, insisting he have something a bit cooler to wear for his trip. Craig only accepted it because of his weakness for Red Racer.

Craig sighed. He was just making a mess of himself. He needed to find some sort of way to clean his hands off. He began to walk toward the ocean. He waded into the water up to his ankles before bending down and rinsing his hands. He did not notice the flash of orange nearing him or the hands that closed around his shoulders. What he did notice was himself letting out a small breath as he fell against warm sand. He was lucky he had not fallen forward and had gotten a mouth full of salty water as a result. Instead, he had an eye full of sun. There was a blinding light obstructing his view for several moments until he could only see honey blond and cotton candy blue. The features were jumbled in Craig's squinted, blurred vision until he managed to open his indigo eyes a bit more. He recognised those idiotic, glinting eyes. "Damnit Kenny."

The glint grew brighter, and Craig swore it would not even be hyperbolic to say they were brighter than the sun. "You act like you're forty instead of twelve," Kenny laughed teasing the other. "C'mon Craigshine," he said loving how the other subtly twitched at his nickname. Kenny had given it to Craig for the deadpanned boy's "bright" personality. "You have to live a little. Enjoy being playfully tackled once in a while," Kenny laughed getting off of Craig and offering a hand of assistance. He was still smiling happily, and the smile grew brighter when Craig accepted the hand. He intertwined their fingers easily, momentarily forgetting they were still slightly sticky.

Kenny noticed, but for once, Craig was not pulling his hand away. He wanted this opportunity. A sticky hand did not mean anything if he had the other. He began humming lightly and pointed at something in the distance, dragging Craig behind him. The other protested with a series of curses and middle fingers Kenny could not see, all the while occasionally stumbling over his feet. He yelled more curses at Kenny, and by the time they reach their destination, his face was flushed from the exertion and heat. Craig was panting slightly, and his deadpanned expression was more of a frown. He glared at Kenny. "What the fucking..."

Craig did not have the chance to finish his sentence. His tongue seemed to tie as he stopped talking, indigo eyes staring wide at his surroundings however frozen his face may be. The sun trickled in through a small little hole at the top of what appeared to be a cavern lined with an abundance of tiny crystals. They all casted different lights, causing the room to glow in a manner that did not seem something of this world. Craig's words remained stolen from his mouth as his free hand reached up and rubbed across the rough texture of the wall. The humidity in the air did not bother him, especially when he got to look at the scene before him.

Kenny watched bemused as Craig wandered around the cavern. Craig had long since taken away his hand, but the way Craig's eyes sparkled with the same light of the crystals was something Kenny could not have even dreamed of seeing. Craig was talking without his voice, the words he wanted to speak flowing out through his subtle actions and indigo eyes. His slender pale fingers slid across the wall until they came back to the place where Kenny stood. He looked up at Kenny and did the unexpected. Craig Tucker smiled.

Then, like a trick of the light, it was gone once again. Kenny almost thought it was just his imagination until he heard two words.

"Thank you."


	2. i'm your favourite cigarette

_Have you ever overcome a bad habit? Are there any unhealthy habits you'd like to break?_

[you suck me dry]

i inhale deeply. he was doing this again. he uses his obscenities to paint over his various insecurities. he is screaming and yelling and begging me to hate him. he is begging me to show him something to tell me i that i love him. he wants me to tell him why i love him. he wants to not have to constantly play a guessing game guessing what is on my mind. he is screaming profanity to try and break through the wall i have built around my heart and mind. the wall that i have built around myself.

cigarettes. i light one and let it hang limply from my lips. the words are breaking through something, nervousness is biting through me. i don't want to admit it. to break my apathy at a time like this would have to be a crime worthy of death. words crawling on my skin and burrowing into it. they are eating me alive, and my hand is shaking slightly. onetwothreefour. my heartbeat beating fast, accelerating. my emotions do not ever come one at a time. they swarm as you insert your first jab of poison into my skin. you seem to peeling open that pandora's box i keep within my deadpanned face.

"give up. i won't hate you."

[you burn me out]

why did i think those words would do anything at all? you are only yelling louder. i think my cigarette has fallen on the ground, but my head is swimming too much to care. it has gone too far into this ocean i call feelings, and it seems to have just remembered it never could swim. i try to calm myself enough just to stop this. i stare at my own feet as you scream and curse. my mind is desperately begging you to stop. i cannot tell any longer if it is you screaming or my mind. this mask of indifference is about to crack.

[you ground me up with the tip of your shoe]

"i won't hate you!"

what was that? did i just yell back at you? it seems you have turnt on the dusty switch i keep locked in my heart. words are pouring from my mouth as i cover my ears and fall to my knees. i want to hate you for doing this me. i do not see how you cannot see that. i want you to see that i love you so much it hurts. that i hate to love because of the pain. loving takes feelings i never wished to have and a lot i traded for apathy a long time ago.

my face is damp. i do not know when i had started crying, but it appears i had. i never cry. i am staring at a damp hand unsure what i should do with it. confusion riddling my mind, heartbreak on my face. why do you do this to me?

i am shaking as you watch me break down to nothing but my pathetic confessions. you wrap me up in your arms and inhale me. i know i am your nicotine, and this is my consequence for making you love me. i know i am not what you always dreamt of, but neithre are you to me. i can smell you clearly: poptarts, cigarettes, and a bunch of feelings you hide from me.

"i fucking hate loving you."


	3. insomnia

_i can't sleep if i'm not next to you._

* * *

><p>Stan wiped his hair from his eyes. Another strike of thunder sent fear crushing through his bones. He crawled underneath his dark blue coverlets for their comfort, but they seemed to not want to offer him any that night. When the flash of bright light passed his window with its wild cry following soon after, Stan leapt from his bed and across the floor. He found safety within a small corner of his closet as he fumbled with his phone. Contacts flashed before his eyes as trembling fingers clicked through them at a rapid pace. He finally found the number he was looking for and tried to text in vain. His fingers kept dancing over the right buttons. Stan cursed, wiping black strands from his face once more as he speed-dialed the number instead. He listened to the low hum of the phone, trying to block out the sounds of terror right outside his bedroom window.<p>

"Hello?"

Stan was relieved the minute he heard that voice. He felt his uneasiness calming somewhat as he tried to still the beating of the butterfly wings building in his chest. "Hey Kyle," Stan said trying his best to sound normal, like the "cool jock" he was supposed to be. "I was wondering if you wanted to spend the night tonight. I just got...," Stan paused trying to come up with a lie. "I just got a new videogame that I think would be cool for us to try." He cringed at the next sound of thunder, covering his mouth from a startled cry that tried to escape. On the other end, the redhead was listening incredulously. He really did not buy a word of the noirette's story. It was storming at a rate that you could not possibly do anything electronic. It was dangerous to even take a shower. He also swore he heard a small noise akin to yelp on Stan's part of the line. However, being the "super best friend" he was, he did not point any of this out.

"Sounds great. I'm coming over Stan," Kyle said with a small smile. He was already slipping on his jacket and boots. He just slipped the clothing right over his pyjamas, the sound of Stan's breathing on the other line and the rain outside his only white noise. Stan was not hanging up the phone, and Kyle would do the same. He held the phone to his ear, even when he almost fell climbing down the tree right outside his bedroom window. It was slick with rain and ice, the cold air not assisting him in any way at all. He fought against the rain until he arrived at Stan's house, slipping around the side where he could see light from the uppermost window. Kyle almost laughed. Stan must have turnt on every light in his bedroom. He wondered why the other even pretended not to be afraid anymore. They had known each other for how long now?

Stan could hear Kyle before he saw him. The minute the Jew had said he was climbing up the tree to Stan's window, Stan ran to it to crack it open. He held his face the best he could against the thunder that struck afterwards. Kyle's talking helped calm him somewhat. He watched as the bright orange blur at the bottom of his tree grew larger into a familiar face. His hands reached down and tugged slick gloved hands into his bedroom. Both boys tumbling on the floor once Kyle was successfully in. Kyle coughed. A sure sign he would definitely be sick tomorrow. However, that relieved smile on Stan's face was well worth a headache and a runny nose. He would not trade that smile for anything. "So how about that game?" he asked hiding a smirk behind his back as he slid the window close.

Stan was silent. "I... I think it's too stormy to play. You rather just head to bed?" he said quietly. Stan was still afraid, a slight tremble in his hands alerted Kyle so. Stan was relieved when Kyle nodded and slid under the covers with Stan. He had turnt off the bedroom lights. Now the room was dark with the exception of the light from passing strikes of electricity. Each one caused Stan to shake even more. He did not tell Kyle, despite. He was keeping the fear locked within himself. Kyle glanced over, feeling the slight tremors on his part of the bed. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around Stan's shoulders, causing the other one to stiffen.

"Go to sleep Stan," Kyle whispered into the noirette's hair. Stan was quiet, but he obeyed. His breath slowing as he curled up next to the other, a common occurrence when the two had their "slumber parties." Kyle waited until he was certain Stan was asleep. He only knew because Stan mumbled incoherently in his sleep, a kind of sleeptalk that Kyle would never really understand aside from the few phrases he managed to catch sometimes. Kyle closed his own eyes, listening to this bumbling lullaby and the storm that always drove him hear to cure Stan's fear induced insomnia. He closed his eyes to dreams that he knew in his heart would one day come true.


	4. love is a cliff and we're going to jump

my heart is racing every single moment i'm around you. i don't understand it, but it is terrifying me. i can't even think without you on my mine. i smile when you smile. i'm hurt when you're hurt. in fact, sometimes my hurt runs to uncontrollable rage. anyone who hurts you should be sent to the deepest realms of hell. [if that even exists. you know i'm not too big on religion. in fact, my religion just may be you.] you're my sun and my sunshine. you're every sun rays kiss and your eyes are all the stars. you're more beautiful than any setting sun or rising moon, singing a song more beautiful than the birds.

that's what makes me so afraid. you're so high above me. you're so much more than me. you're everything i am not, and everything i want to be. i can't understand why i feel this way and whether i should even - oh curse it if i say it then i know it will be true. once i say the words i can't ever take them back. i'm closing my eyes and counting to three. the roses i bought are wilting, but i can't tell. i'm too busy staring at the cold blackness of my lids.

i open them slowly before knocking on the door. i can taste the metallic taste of blood on my lip. you're not supposed to give a boy flowers, but why can't i? i never have been known to listen to the rules anyway. one knock, then two. i wait impatiently at your door, the fur of my hood tickling my cheek. you answer and your face is apathetic. except, i can see that your eyebrows raised ever so slightly. i thinmk i might be the only one who notices these things. then i realise to my utter embarrassment i'm always staring at you. hopefully you won't notice that eithre.

your eyes fall to the roses then back up to my face. i see your lips curling up ever so much, and are your cheeks tinting a light pink? nevermind. that is ridiculous. you take them, and this time i see it. you're smiling, and now i'm grinning. i don't even care that you never invite me inside. the smile is enough for me. i hear you say something, and for once it is not a "fuck you" or some other profanity. you say "thank you" in a voice so quiet i have to almost lean in to hear.

i think i really am leaning in because we're so close your breath tickles my skin. you hesitate, but then i feel soft lips on mine. a soft press of the lips like this is your first time doing this. you pull apart after a while. i feel like i have died and gone to heaven. [and trust me. i know the feeling.] you close the door and i don't think it is because you don't like me. maybe you're just as afraid as i am.

you're afraid of the feeling. you're afraid of the beating of your heart. you're afraid of racing hearts and warm memories. you're afraid of what will happen if we have hell to pay. you're afraid of taking a chance. you're afraid of jumping into that pool of emotions and uncertains and complications.

good thing i decided to leap first because otherwise i don't think i ever would have felt your hands in mine.


	5. just another sad love song

[pretty thing is suffering since he confessed everything.]

coffee stains mixed with saltwater tears on your pillow case.

sad love songs are all that play on your radio.

that's what you're supposed to do when your heart is broken.

right?

it's supposed to make you feel better.

right?

then why won't the tears stop? big brown doe eyes too puffy and red to see. blurred photographs and fuzzy memories,

or maybe you're just visually impaired.

you swear it has been years, not days, since it happened.

he shattered it to pieces. your heart is dead.

you hate that he has done this to you.

you hate the way he always seemed to forget the simplest things:

... valentine's day.

... christmas.

... your birthday.

... you.

you hate that you still love him so much it hurts.

you don't hate him.

not a bit.

not at all.

you finally understand that song on the radio. you finally understand what it means to be an almost lover and walk along a boulevard of broken dreams.

congratulations.

he succeeded.

you had to say goodbye to your heart that night. he stole it and ran away.

you're living another sad love song. this is your personal faerie-tale gone bad.

coffee cups scattered on the floor.

one is broken, cuts your feet, but you don't really care.

you can't feel it because of the pills.

you lost count after five.

actually, you had never been counting at all.

they are for your paranoia, the hallucinations. the therapist says you are living in delusion. in a beautiful lie.

another pill.

another sip of coffee.

big brown eyes and quivering fingers on the window sill. coffee stained letters of summer murdered by winter are scattered on the floor.

another sad love song.

a faerie-tale gone bad.

a russian roulette game that you did not seem to win.

one foot on the sill followed by the other.

jittery, shakey body shivering from cold frosted air, but not fright,

you are no longer afraid of anything.

big brown eyes looking for that innocence in the stars. they are searching for your paradise lost.

one more pill.

one last cup of coffee.

you let the mug fall. you don't hear it as it hits the snow.

one tentative step forward is all it takes.

one step to be falling.

you hit the ground, but it doesn't go away.

you still feel so cold, empty and fragile like broken snow.

even when you begin to cry, you aren't even aware of it.

_you couldn't escape the feeling after all._


	6. i'm thinking of you and me

tiny splotches cover your face like an accident.

it's as if i grabbed my paintbrush, dipped it in a bit of orangey-brown, and then dolloped your face in the colour.

eyes meet mine.

bright green meets brownish-blue.

you smile -

dimples that you could forget yourself in

- then so do i.

"homework?"

you ask as if i should be doing mine

i think i got lost again

emerald green is truely an astounding thing.

"homework."

i say the word dully.

i am staring at the curve of your lips.

it is slight, it could be a mistake of the light,

but then you laugh.

i like your laugh.

i have to say i would pick it over anything on the radio.

"homework."

you repeat your question as a command and point at it.

i look down at the paper before me.

i flush darkly.

"oh."

i know you are astounded at my eloquence.

green to brownish-blue again.

laughter between lips that i would die to keep moving.

i'm laughing too.

not as exquisate, but all the same

contagious really, i could laugh with you all day.

because the words i wish to say

are binded by my own secret insecurities

so we sit and laugh

all the time words i cannot even say tangled in my mind

thinking:

_i have to say, in honesty_

_i rather it be "we" than just "you" and "me"_


	7. bitter

_(the things you do to me...)_

* * *

><p>"shit," i say as i run a hand through red curls. i don't even wince as i pull some out. there's no pain. none at all. i'm sitting in your bathroom as you are in the other room. we're studying for our exams tomorrow. you're helping me with my gym and i'm helping you with all of your academics (such a trial really), but you fell asleep. i could not bear to wake you up. instead, i had just covered you with a blanket and made sure nothing harmful was in your way as i made my way to the bathroom. now i'm sitting here in the bathroom running my hand through my red, red curls. when did it start turning like this?<p>

"_ah! kyle! i love you! you're my super best friend!"_

the words you say never mean the same to you as they do to me. they use to be so trivial, but now... i put my face in my hand tugging more red hair. i fear the love i have for you is no longer platonic, and it hurts. it tastes bitter flowing from my mind to mouth. i sit up from the toilet and walk to the bath climbing inside the tub pulling my knees to my chest. i have to think. thinkthinkthink. i'm an idiot. only fictional idiots fall in love with their best friends. not me. notmenotme. not you. never you.

the taste of this bitter love is from my mind and on my tongue as i struggle not to choke it out, to vomit out the acrid taste.

_and i watched you pass my bedroom window, hair carressing your face like raven wings. your eyes were light and looking at better things than me. like her face and her hand intertwined with yours, not mine._

so bitter.

_counting to nine..._

i am crying all over again. in your sink, in your shower, all over your bathroom floor. you don't know it. i make sure of it. i make sure to keep quiet in your bathroom. i don't want you to ever know. this love is bitter, but it is all mine. pain is a heavy pill, and i don't want to have to share it with you. "shitshitshit," i say again, as the sobs increase. i would blame the puffy eyes on my allergies tomorrow when you ask, and the runny nose too. you would never notice. please never notice.

_just like you never do._

* * *

><p><em>(why can't you be mine?)<em>


	8. tell the monster hello

**full title:: **look in the mirror and tell the monster hello

* * *

><p>Sick.<p>

Kyle brushed a hand through his damp hair in the bathroom mirror before swallowing another one his medications. The pills were not helping at all. He still felt sick. Ill. He did not know why, but he felt absolutely sick to his stomach. There was a nausea. There was a headache. He had not felt hunger in a while. His weight had been decreasing lately, and that was saying something for the poor Jewish boy.

What was wrong?

Another vermillion curl dared to escape the makeshift handband of barrettes he was creating on his head to occupy himself as he thought in his reflection of glass. He was sick, but he did not know how. His grades were slipping slightly as a consequence. A 98 was becoming a 93. This slight slip so minor no one noticed but himself. He would curse and wonder all by himself, biting his lip until he could taste the iron of blood on it, worrying over it. Yes. Kyle was so very ill all of sudden in more ways than allergies and that tumour he always had to check on now and again.

A pale trembling hand pressed against the glassed to look at a reflection he did not recognise. Those jade jaded eyes, what did they always say to the people they encounter. He tried to mask this worry, but he might have been failing as of late. The light in the eyes dulling as his health declined over the days, his ability to cope with the days becoming more and more unbearable.

Kyle knew he could do better; his mother told him so. The voices that mingled in the halls of counsellors and all those other important peoples that he was forced to listen to of society told him that he could do oh so much better. That he was striving to become somebody, something more than this shakey redhead in his bathroom mirror. This trembling teenager who was reaching beneath the sink for his little brother's forgotten pencil sharpener and taking the little plastic thing out with tired eyes. Yes Kyle was sick.

_He was so sicksicksick._

One slice. Two slice. Three slice then another to make four.

Kyle knew this was not helping him at all, it was actually making his situation worse. His pale fingers that wrapped around the unscrewed pencil sharpener blade and now scratched scars into his open skin. He had started before he could stop, his thighs covered as he pushed the blocking cotton fabric of his boxers up more. Blood leaking from the cuts and down his thighs as he gripped the sink to struggled to stand up straight.

_So sicksicksick._


	9. take me away so i can dream

It was happening again. Craig tried to squeeze his eyes shut to the noise, the screaming yelling drunken father who was beating him violet and blue with insults and "you can't do rights." His indigo eyes burnt with tears he refused to shed because big boys do not cry and crying would never solve anything, it would not stop the yelling. Crying would only admit his own defeat and betrayl to himself, showing a pain he refused to acknowledge within himself. He buried the tears despite wetness that dampened his lashes. No tears. He would not cry.

Another shout but this one jerked Craig from his crouching on the couch, his hiding spot in his navy blue hoodie and the shielding of his hair. He had thought if he had closed his eyes it would disappear, but the hard twist of his arm only brought this nightmarish reality horribly to life as he came to realise this life was his. The dream he always awoke to in the mornings and crawled out his beds to greet so surreal to him in moments like these. Ugly. Grotesque. Terrifying. He did not want to acknowledge the fear, but the fear was there when he was jerked up before being tossed down and insulted (no these are mere "reprimands of his character"). He flinched involuntary as he hits the couch once more, body to the fabric of the couch softly as he closes his eyes again and feels himself grow tired.

Craig wanted to trade. This dream for the one's in his mind. He could not decide if the nightmares that cause him to shudder and wake up and want to cry are better than this, but he desired in the deepest to return to them. He was crawling to them as he faded to nothing on the couch, curling into a ball of blues with hints of blacks and yellows as his father continues to yell. He was fading further and further into the lucidity of the dreams of a fantasy land that is a web based on his experiences, both good and bad. The unfortunate ones seeming to take over his own personal little mental land as he faded into it, nightmares seeming to be the majority of his dreams, but Craig found these nightmares better than the shouting, screaming nightmare in front of him. He wanted to trade, fade into it. He was doing so well until a light slap hit his arm, and once more, reality was there again. Hello, hello.

A light slap on his arm that was light enough to sting without bruising sent Craig careening back to the earth. Craig did not want to open his eyes and listen to the words; it would mean he was greeting the slap. Still, he did so all the same. Greetings and familiarity because this had happened so many times except Craig knew, his mind whispered it, "it could have been worse." The words were bitter in his mind and on his tongue, his heart caught in his throat as he thought them. His father was screaming too loud, and the yelling was blocking his ability to not feel. How could he think about that when all he could hear was the shouting of "you could have been better's"? He could not hear over them, those words his mind had thought coming once again and the tears he was determined not to cry burning once more behind his eyes before the feeling flitted away like a passing heart pain, heartache. Too many words that struck and bit into his skin, a thousand burning needles despite him listening only halfway. They dug deeper and deeper into his skin to his flesh. They were trying to dig past the flesh to get past the bones and more importantly that organ that caused him to feel. That one he hid under a middle finger and an apathetic gaze.

Quiet.

His father had digressed to mumbles wearing himself out as he stumbled out of the room, the what Craig took to be a drunken tirade now finished as he stumbled out the room and left the other behind. He left Craig with the needles still sticking in his skin and an emptiness as Craig focused on this nothing until he wrapped himself in his apathy security blanket. The tears were gone despite never being shed. They were locked away with his heart. He was there but not there, a little stiff figure on the couch as he wrapped his arms around himself feeling a chill pass through him. He closed his eyes once more to the advancing steps of his sister Ruby as she walked through the door from her afterschool Photography Club, her figure passing through the door and to the couch to crouch over him in the same quietness that matched his breathing. They refused to say that this was "their's." This pain, this life, everything was an apathetic middle finger in personification.

Ruby tugged a blanket over him, warming him enough that he could close his eyes again to welcome the dreams. Craig slipped off into them then, succumbing to the tired weariness of someone who just did not want to do this anymore (too much, too much). Ruby watched him as the indigo of his eyes glazed with drowsiness and then closed. Her typical deadpanned lips were turnt in a frown that Craig could not see as his breathing slowed. She stood up to move then, but before she could an unconscious gloved hand grabbed her wrist. The slender fingers wrapping around as Craig mumbled nonsensical things in his sleep. Ruby stared in apathy, not saying a word, but she stayed all the same. She knelt down beside him once more and intertwined their fingers as she rested her head on them and Craig's chest. This way she could hear his faint heartbeat to remind her that he was indeed alive and that the nothing they both expressed went no deeper than that.

Ruby's eyes slipped closed to this. The silent bathump bathump of Craig's beating heart her lullaby as she slipped into her dreams, her lips silently mouthing a wish in a breath that you would have to be close to hear:

"Save me to my dreams."


	10. blow out the candles

12. Craig was not getting a birthday party, birthday presents, a birthday this year. His grandmother had died a month before and left him alone to (try to) move on. He stared outside his window and watched stars. He stared and he wondered if people really forgot things like dying and birthdays and other people. He wondered why no one seemed to remember (him) his birthday.

13. Craig was offered a trip to the movie theatre with his friends (Token) treating him to a nice birthday, to care, to friendship that Craig could not really, fully understand. He wanted to go, but there was a difference between want and could. He told them he did not want to go. He lied. He always lied.

(His dad said no.)

14. Craig was going to spend the whole night stargazing alone. He was not allowed to really celebrate another year of being (himself) alive. He had to stay home. He had to escape. He had to disappear in wishes that he knew would not come true and stars and their sketched constellations. He wanted to touch them, feel them on his fingertips. He wanted to burn and to burst into stardust so no one would recognise (the fuckups) him. He wanted to know that he was alive and what it meant to feel happiness behind a smile.

15. This year someone had climbed onto the roof with him. Bright orange and twinkling-starfire-blue eyes and hidden smiles in the moonlight. Birthday wishes whispered on the wind.

Craig did not invite him. He had not needed to.

16. Kenny sneaked him out of the house that night through his cracked bedroom window. He helped Craig down from the windowsill to crashing into his arms as they both avoided the scratching limbs of a frozen tree. Kenny had laughed, and Craig had felt a feeling he wanted to keep feeling even if it meant he had to let Kenny drag him to the pond and make broken, shabby snow angels. Kenny told him they were going to fly away to the stars.

17. Craig has a black eye. There are cuts and bruises and a broken rib. He cannot feel the pain anymore. He has numbed himself with falling snow draping him in a powdery veil. He has fooled himself to believing in anything but where he was. He wants to drown in the snow and the stars and dead dreams.

He wants to drown in the smile that greets him from across the street before orange assaults his eyes right in front of him. He wants to grab his hand and let him take him to wherever he just happened to want to go. He wants to feel that happiness again. That feeling that he could not identify but wanted to keep feeling.

He grabs his hand.

18. This is the first time Craig has ever gotten a present from brown-gloved hands and bluefire eyes. This is the first time he has felt a real smile creep on his face over something as trivial as Red Hots and a small two-worded sentence that could mean everything (if he just let it).

This was the first time he was kissed like _that_.

Heartstopping,

Lungceasing,

Dying,

Electrifying,

kiss that drove him breathless, to slow realisation that baby-skies and stars were looking at him from their place encased in blue-eyes and that they were for him, wanted him, cared about him.

19. Craig is sitting on the couch with a cat at his feet and honey blond hair tickling his almost bare legs. He is watching cartoons over a box of Red Hots and a can of Dr. Pepper that Kenny drinks too much of. He is comfortable and that feeling he did not want to go has not just yet. He hopes the stars grant his wish this one time. That they

"Hey Craig?"

Craig stopped thinking about nothing that meant too much of anything and his gaze met the one who had called his attention. He was about to open his mouth and ask what he had been called for when suddenly slender fingers pulled his face closer and lips met into a chaste kiss, that somehow, despite its length remained perfectly innocent. Kenny smiled when they parted, his eyes glittering all the words I could never manage to squeeze into every day.

"Happy birthday."


	11. cocoaic dreams to drown the nightmares

Craig could not sleep.

A hot mug of thick cocoa rested between tired fingers as he drummed a tired song on the tabletop. Insomnia ate away at his mind, keeping him awake and was the cause if him to be sitting at the table at midnight singing a wordless song with no meaning. That and the fact he was he was escaping the horrors that laid behind closed lids. The blackness of his unreality something he just could not stand. He would rather deal with this simple lucidity caused by constant hours of staring at empty space and windows. Craig would not dare to turn on a television for that would wake up his father and that would be a crime, another nightmare but this one reality.

(Sleep.)

Craig took another sip from his cocoa using it to distract him from him from the thoughts of it. He could not dare to sleep at a time like this. Not with the nightmares lurking around the edges of his mind, digging their claws in. He needed a dream. The ends of a dream. The tentacles of one creeping in as he heard the slight vibration of his phone in the other room despite his surreality with the real world, his head turning to look at it in a kind of not there expression. You could say he was not there. He was in a dream, an imaginative place that was not this world. He floated over to the phone picking it up and sliding it open to glance at the apparent text message.

"i miss u."

Craig tilted his head at the text message that weighted him down, drowning him in his chocolate flavoured dream. He could almost hear the voice of the one who had sent it with just three simple textspoken words. Words that drove him back to earth and hitting reality, not cold reality but a warm reality. Warm hot chocolate and a smile that could pass through words. Craig could feel it all as a small feeling he wanted to grasp and tangle and lose himself in overcame him much too fast. It always came too fast, before he could stop it from happening. He was suddenly feeling so many things all at once and had no idea what to do with any of it. The only thing he knew was that a small smile, a ghost of a smile, a secret smile, graced his lips, lifted the corners to match his lifted moods.

For a moment he forgot about the nightmares. The nightmares just seemed to have slipped away and left Craig with a newfound comfort he did not really acknowledge, only felt. He lifted the mug to his lips, and his nimble fingers hardly hesitated in their response as they danced on the keyboard. It was a simple reply for the simple boy, and it simply told everything in a short-worded sentence.

"i miss you too."

Then Craig put his phone down and the mug away as he went back to bed, eyes staring at the sky and wondering if the other was staring at the same stars. He did not know when they began to close, but they did, the only lullaby being his phone vibrating next to his pillowcase mixing with his softening breaths.

_"sweet dreams craig."_


	12. Snickerdoodles and Pop Rocks

idea: MAKE OUT WITH POP ROCKS. WHAT. (and snickerdoodles are my favourite type of cookie)

* * *

><p>Craig rolled over on his bed to his stomach, Kenny was beside him sprawled in the opposite direction, a bag of Pop Rocks in hand. Craig had Red Hots in his and was eating them lazingly, sliding one between his lips before another. He did it almost robotically. He found no reason to start a conversation, liking the quiet. If there was nice thing about hanging out with Kenny, it was that the other enjoyed talking as much as he did.<p>

A knock on the door disturbed the quiet, Craig the one to get up and answer it. He abandoned his candy to its place on the floor when he went to answer under the belief he would be right back. Unfortunately for him, Ruby and her gang of friends grabbed him by the arms immediately and dragged him out the door, the older teenager letting out an annoyed groan as they countinued to take his protesting feet in the direction of the kitchen.

"We're hungry, and we've all agreed you're the best cook," Ruby explained to his forced removal from comfortability. She received no reply from Craig as she let go and he walked along with them instead. This is why Craig objected to Ruby's little slumber parties. It was filled with a bunch of over-snacking, energetic, blabbing teenage girls (and occasionally boys) that seemed to always see him as some sort of maid. Even when he said no, they would whine and bitch until he got annoyed enough to do what they wanted just to make them be quiet.

A sigh escaped Craig's lips now, the apathetic boy somewhat irritated already by the fact he was dragged in there. "Well, you whiny bitches are just going to get cookies and popcorn and then leave me the fuck alone," he said in blunt monotone and grabbed a baking sheet. The girls were used to his profanity and typical rude manners, happy they won as usual. Ruby disappeared with them back to the livingroom where the party was taking the place. Laughter filled Craig's ears as they resumed whatever they were doing before bothering him.

It only took about thirty or so minutes for Craig to finish. He pulled the hot snickerdoodles and dumped them all on a plate. He balanced the plate in one hand and the bowl of popcorn in the crook of his harm. "Okay, here's your shit," he said as he entered the livingroom. "Now I'm going to...," Craig stopped midsentence when he found his blond companion sitting in the midst of the girls in a circle. Ruby was sitting in his lap with one of his bags of Pop Rocks (they had cost ten cents per bag at the drugstore) and eating them contently. Her eyes flitted upon seeing Craig enter the room, the apathetic boy having no idea what to make of the situation. He wanted to tell Kenny he was a paedophile or something, but the other actually was not doing anything but appearingly playing their game.

"Going to join?" Kenny suggested with his usual cheesy grin. He had grown bored earlier in the room by himself and had walked downstairs to find the girls who explained to him Craig was in the kitchen. At some point, he had ended up joining them in a Truth or Dare circle having forgotten about Craig.

Craig was silent for a moment. "Fuck no," he finally said strongly in a deadpan before flipping them all off and making his start to return back to his bedroom upstairs. Unfortunately for him, he had not managed to make it up three steps before the girls (and Kenny) began to beg him to stay and "play with them. What was the harm?"

The latter of their pleas was the thing he was worried about.

Craig could feel another sigh on his lips as he strummed a hand through his bang and tugged on the end of his hat. "Fine," he said and returnt to the livingroom. He sat down next to Kenny, not bothering to really acknowledge the girls. They returnt to their game as soon as they saw him join the circle, the questions they asked and the dares they made relatively safe. Craig had wanted to leave after the first five minutes. At fifteen he had grabbed a pillow to place into his lap and leant against the couch with his eyes halfmast. He was lost in bored daydreams when he heard a voice call his name.

Bored indigo eyes glanced up then. It was the only sign that Craig had heard them. "Your turn," a girl with loose braided plaits said. All the girls were quieter now, a thing that should have raised a flag in Craig's mind, but he was too busy not thinking about anything all that hard. He wanted to go watch cartoons or play with his guinea pig. Anything but sitting in that room surrounded with snickering girls.

"Dare," Craig said. He still did not really want to play, but he had agreed. Picking a truth seemed dangerous, since the girls might use it as an opportunity to get something from him. Ruby especially since she already knew a lot about him, and would definitely use the chance to embarrass him in the only way she knew how. So a dare was the safer of the two evils, Craig deciding that whatever they came up would not be too bad, even if it was illegal.

A smirk crossed Ruby's lips. She had moved from Kenny's lap and now sat to the side of him. Kenny was still eating his candy (Craig had no idea how he managed to make the small bags last so long unless he had bought a lot more than he had thought). Ruby scooted back a little, the smirk on her lips bringing back the question of "what's the harm?" back to Craig's mind as he caught it. He mentally cursed even before he heard the dare.

"I dare you and Kenny to makeout," Ruby said raising a brow from Kenny and a blank stare from Craig.

"What?" Craig said just to make certain he heard her correctly. Honestly, he did not think of Kenny (or anyone for that matter) in snogging terms, but it seemed Ruby did. Not to mention kissing one of your friends is weird on so many levels. He had kissed Clyde once when they had too many vodka shots, and had regretted it ever since. That incident had not been mentioned sinced the day it happened. In fact, that moment when Craig was staring at Ruby with disbelieving eyes was probably the first time he had thought about it since then.

"I," Ruby repeated emphasising her monotone with a point at herself, " want you to makeout with Kenny McCormick as your dare," she said pointing at each them when she said their name. Kenny caught Craig's eye and shrugged. Craig was still unsure what to make of the situation. He just ate some more of his candy, while some girls slightly pushed Craig to initiate him getting over to Kenny. They were still whispering lowly, but Craig could not hear them over the unreality of what was happening to him hit him. He was not going to kiss Kenny McCormick. He was not going to accidentally meet the eyes of who he was dared to kiss and freeze. He was not going to be pulled in a little closer by whatever magnetising force Kenny always seemed to have (you can call it amiable charisma, Craig called it devilish temptation). He was not just a breath away from Kenny's lips and tilting his head to close the distance.

The slight spark of the strawberry Pop Rock candy that he had forgotten was on the tip of Kenny's tongue was what told him otherwise. Craig took in that he was indeed doing what he had been telling himself he was not. He would have pulled away, but a hand had crept up to lightly press his neck. The pressure was enough to keep him close and also to keep him from pulling away. The candy tingled and sizzled on Craig's tongue with his own mind as he completely forgot about the girls and climbed on Kenny's lap, never daring to break the kiss.

One of Kenny's hands had wandered to his side and was tickling up his hoodie. Craig's breath hitched slightly and a light flush covered his face up to his ears. He could feel the heat on his face, Kenny's hand on the bare skin it met once successfully managing to crawl up his hoodie, the tongue on his and the small shocks like electricity dancing between their lips. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, to think, to do anything with each passing moment of a second that passed.

Craig only pulled apart when he felt like his lungs were about to burst. He swallowed spit mixed with the aftermath of the candy still in his mouth as he stared blankly as if he had no idea how he wound up in the situation he was in. Someone handed him and Kenny a soda, the girls still whispering to each other. Ruby's smirk was a full-on triumphant smile as she stared at her brother who was still too shocked to crawl (or "fall" would do) off of Kenny's lap.

Kenny was the one to stand, grabbing Craig's hand in his as he stood. Craig was following him with a frozen deadpanned expression, his feet moving on their own as they disappeared back into his bedroom. The girls were left behind, Ruby smiling happily before putting out an open palm much to the dismay of some of her friends.

"Told you guys Kenny topped."


	13. Thunderstorm Dreams

_i wanna feel. i'm tired. i want you to save me from this thunderstorm i've trapped myself in._

* * *

><p>Kenny sat on the couch next to Craig. His hair was still a bit damp from the rain he had ran through to get here. Craig had called him over for no apparent reason, or maybe the other just plain did not want to admit why he was invited over to the house. In honesty, Kenny did not really care. He enjoyed the other's company, no matter how boring. He never died, but instead he happily would spend days doing nothing in whatever room they chose to just crash in. Apparently today Craig was satisfied with sitting in the livingroom. He sat on the couch, headphones in his ears and a pillow to his chest, not hearing Kenny come in but feeling the slight shift as weight was added to the couch. Indigo grey eyes shifted from staring at nothing to looking at the other. He was silent, did nothing. He just stared for a while before returning to his hobby of doing nothing at all.<p>

Kenny tilted his head. He was now wondering why Craig invited him over. Craig never did talk much, but he at least typically acknowledged Kenny in some form when he came over. It was as if he wanted to block the world out from his headphones that were clasped tightly over his ears. Kenny decided to see what was the matter in the only way he knew how, he lifted the headphones from Craig's head just as a rumble of thunder passed. Craig's eyes grew wide with the noise, the only sign he was surprised. Then he was snatching the headphones and placing them back over his head. Kenny noticed he held the pillow slightly tighter to his chest. His mouth was firm in its blank expression. He was straining to hold in whatever he was keeping contained.

The thunder got louder as it neared. The headphones no longer enough to keep out the noise. Kenny saw Craig's eyes twitch, then his mouth, then cringing as the sound got louder. His face showed nothing, but Kenny thought he looked terrified. If he could hear anything over the sound of falling rain and thunder, he would hear the sound of Craig's rapidly beating heart. Craig was terrified and had too much pride to admit it. He did not want anyone to know about his shameful, childish fear of thunderstorms. However, the thought of being alone in one was almost unbearable.

Kenny watched the display until he took an arm and wrapped it around Craig. It was not until he had his limb wrapped around the other did he notice the slight shaking Craig was doing. He was embarrassed, but he was too wrapped up in his own fear to move. He instead cringed into Kenny's damp parka even more. It was almost as if he was trying to drown out the sound with the orange fabric. He might have been. He was willing for anything to block out that horrible booming sound. The sound that stalked nightmares and things you want to forget. Each crack sounded like a gunshot aiming straight for Craig's already distraught mind. For a fleeting moment, Craig desperately wished he could show what he was feeling. The combination of holding something in and experiencing it was becoming unbearable. His banque account was overfilling with his emotions he kept trying to head away.

The thunder was louder, and at first, Craig thought the dampness on his cheeks was just the rain still remaining on Kenny's parka. It was not until he felt something climb up his throat that he realised he was crying. He wanted to stop, but he was afraid. He had always been afraid. Kenny's eyes were opening in surprise as he felt Craig crying. He reached up a hand and patted Craig's head softly, hoping the gesture would be a bit comforting. Kenny himself always enjoyed fingers combing through his own hair.

Craig stopped shaking enough to lean into the hand, his eyes still tightly closed as he tried to block out the booming outside. It was calming. Kenny was not as cold as he thought he would be. Instead his hand was warm. With his eyes closed, Craig could pretend the hand belonged to his late Nana. Unlike the rest of Craig's family, she never left him alone during a storm. He began to calm down as the memories placated him. They acted like a sedative or maybe a sort of sleeping pill, the comfort and warmth making him desire sleep. Craig leant down, slacking against the other. His movements became almost unnoticeable, and his face softened as sleep overtook him.

Kenny stopped petting Craig when he saw the other had fallen asleep. With a sigh, he shifted slightly so he was comfortable, wary of the person already taking over a majority of his lap. He brushed the hair from Craig face and then, he leant down and placed a light kiss on his still form careful not to wake the other. He smiled slightly wondering when Craig would not only show him all of him (because Kenny did not just want the broken bits he received, he wanted everything to Craig's slowing down from panicked heart), but he knew however long time it took he could wait. For now he would just come over whenever Craig called, and continue to hide the affection he had for his usual perverity.

For now, he would be the one bearing with him through the storms.


	14. The Guide to Falling

[I stumble.]

It is in the cafe. Slender fingers around a coffee cup, biting your lip, I can see the blood. You wear long sleeves even if it is warm outside, the fabric not tight nor baggy. It is an odd fit. As odd as the coffee you hold in your jittery hands despite the beverage being the cause of a worsened case of your paranoia. The mug sometimes slips, spilling on the napkins you already had spread on the table. It is almost as if you know that you will spill the coffee. The brownish stain spreads, and it is right then you looked up. You notice me, emerald mountains paralysing me on the spot.

It is only when you got up to say something do I run.

[I trip.]

I see you at school the next day. You are walking around with your coffee thermos, those same jittery fingers drumming along the thermos as you laugh with friends who seem to really care. Friends who like you for more than looks or something as ridiculously banal as shoes. Friends who actually enjoy your company despite your handicaps.

The laughter tickles a feeling that is akin to jealously. For a moment I wish I am you, but my girlfriend of the week tugs on my arm and pulls me away from jumbled thoughts. Blonde hair and breasts that are natural despite their size press against me as we enter a bathroom stall. She puckers her lips, but my eyes stare not to meet hers. The kiss I give her is passive and quickly broken as I pull apart.

Is that a coffee stain?

[I fall.]

It is unnatural, the way I cry. A stifled wail and big tears that usually forget their reason after only a few moments. I blame my own bitter loathing for sports. Then again, I cannot do anything else much better. I cling onto them for recognition, but I no longer want to be recognised for just that. I want someone to see the me not covered with a jockey's jacket.

Your hand on my shoulder is the last thing I need right now. A hand that attempts to pull me out of self-pity with comfort. You shake me lightly in a pace that matches your own slight shaking, and a voice that tries to sooth me with a strand of words I am not really absorbing. My voice replies with an edge of bitterness I do not really mean as I tell you to go away.

I just want to be left alone. A desperate desire that deepens as my hand blocks the beg that nearly escapes.

_Please..._

[Falling faster, harder.]

You do not listen to me. Your hand tightens on my shoulder no matter how hard I attempt to push it away. You are shaking, I had thought it is from your regular nerves, but I somewhat notice it has heightened. The increase is brought on by emotions you feel for me. A sympathy I am so unused to, and that is passed on without your mouth.

An absent thought passes through my mind. One that believes you must be as bad with words as I am.

I must have said the thought out loud because the next thing I know you are smiling. Then a small laugh pours from your lips as smooth as the creamer you put in your coffee. Your laugh is pittering and jittery to match the rest of you. It hits my ears like the rain dropping on the pavement around us. A music that I have never heard before created with the harmonising pair.

It shocks me. That smile and that laugh seem to be too much bear. I get up on feet that tangle with my own thoughts.

I am such a great athlete.

I end up falling on the ground, taking you with me, on top of me. Instead of escaping, I have only brought you closer.

Emeralds from the caves of dark mountains and laughter in my ears to follow the rain. Suddenly I desperately want all those years back, the years I turnt you away. I want you to love me, like me, anything but be afraid of me and my stupid jock friends, the ones who are just as dumb as me.

"Friends?"

The words are small when I ask them, and I am so afraid you'll say no.

You just laugh again a smile on your face as you pull us both up.

"I never stopped being yours."


	15. wordplay

and we lie

in grass

about ourselves

and you hid

ing the fallacies you speak

about how there are no cigarette burns

and no black eyes

and denying the hiding in your cage of in

difference

and

locked bathroom stalls

and you show me your poetry

notebooks filled with stories

of fairytales gone bad

in cryptic sentences that say everything you want to say

in nothing at all

and honestly

i want to understand everything about you

i want you to tell me

about the bruises

and all the scars you think are

ugly

crisscrossing your porcelain skin

and i want you to dance with me in sunbeams

although you seem to hide

in the shadows

of your darkest secrets

(maybe you will be tan then

maybe the scars will heal then

maybe they will fade then)

and so i will rewrite the ending of your fairytale for you

(no matter there are two princes

and no white horse)

and i will take you away from here

one day

(just hang onto those small strands of dreams

and soon we will be dancing on the stars)

_and then the lie we believe in_

_won't be so much a lie anymore_


End file.
